Incubus
by LimeKiwiEye
Summary: Supernatural attacks have dwindled in the countryside leaving Integra time to delve into the shadows of her mind. A mysterious man approaches with a compelling offer. Who is he? Who is Integra Hellsing? Watch Integra sweat 'til she bleeds. AxI
1. Chapter 1

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

The first morning was unexceptional. Her dream conjured up, and gently released. There was someone familiar in reality; a man who did not survive. A figurehead, tumors cutting down his time and purpose, stealing his daughter's innocence. Dragging fingertips across her chest, Integra couldn't help but wonder about her own path.

The second morning her knuckles were bruised. She had been breaking glass, shattering it with her fists. Small pieces burst from miniature square planes, tinkling as they hit the floor. All around her pieces shone with a bright intensity that even the thin-fingered dark retreated.

She awoke panicky, heart beating, brow sweating, on the third morning. Circumstances forced impossible, asinine miscalculations on the job, and her family's organization was leveled. Exiting the church of her youth, two middle-aged men slid from the shadows. She found herself dragged toward an unmarked sedan. Unarmed, in the dark, she fumbled for keys in her coat pocket, her stoic voice rang out, "you wouldn't_ dare."_ She maneuvered keys between fingers, crouching her body in a fighting stance. The man closest backed away, palms open waving _no_. She stepped past the trunk of his vehicle. He shrugged, giving up as she continued to step back. She missed his signal to the one with graying hair to come around the car. Delayed reaction, time slowed down , the sound of a match lit like thunder. It flew into the open collar of her coat. His smirk touched her eyes, as she realized too late she was alight. The smell of open flame burning blonde locks.

Months passed. Days phased in and out of each other, like plumes from her father's cigars. She was vaguely aware of the gothic hospital where she stayed, her dreaming mind fusing a care center with the towered church. If she looked outside, the window was black. Her skin surprised her; right side, neck and shoulders marred by scars from grafts, where flames licked red. A knock from the black window. A smile. A wave. He is genuinely happy to see her. Pursuing her still, biding time until her release. She bolts awake, clutching her throat.

Three days, nights, dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

Since her return from abroad, supernatural matters have died down in the surrounding countryside. Integra always thought she'd relish the day when she could rest, having efficiently executed her legacy. However, any celebration seems premature; her experience attests to these doubts, not from her years, but from its extreme nature. Paperwork has never been a luxury. She finds herself avoiding the flood spilling from her inbox. At the moment she is too keyed up to relax, and any nightly respite is destroyed the moment her head hits the pillow, her dark dreaming mind claiming her.

For nearly a week she sits at her mahogany desk, sleep-deprived and chain-smoking Henri Wintermans, pulverizing each butt into the crystal ashtray, rifling through papers, musing the current state of her affairs. As days continue, both paper work and cigar piles begin anew. Ashtray's contents wiped out by night; the family butler efficiently erasing existence of her obsessive habit. Tonight she stares across her estate. Her gloved hand reaches up to brush baby-fine tresses behind an ear, pulling absently at the unmarred skin on her neck. She is not so far gone that she fails to notice the subtle temperature drop. The small hairs on her neck standing at attention.

"Master."

"Alucard."

"You're up considerably late."

She pulls the blue ascot at her throat, fingers linger on a silver cross. Hands retrace imaginary scars. "In such pressing times I fail to see the use of sleep." A smirk lifts the corner of her lips.

He remains a respectful distance away, face a mask.

Exhaling cigar smoke, she adds a stumped brown corpse to the growing pile. Integra, buries her face in hands and sighs. "I suspect the Queen-" she gasps as the air around her shifts and thickens. He materializes to perch comfortably on the edge of her desk.

"Jittery are we my master?" Alucard regards her down the length of his nose, black hair moving of its own accord.

"Must you resort to such theatrics?" Her voice shakier than she'd like. In her cheeks there is the slightest pink tint, a rare breed of flush that vanishes as quickly as it came.

He smiles, wide, genuine. "Can not a servant, humble, such as myself, check in with his master? You are flushed Integra, are you ill...my master?" His syllables draw out slowly, with particular emphasis on the last words.

She scowls. Her features are pinched, deep circles ring her eyes. She grasps the bridge of her nose, right under the little v between her brows. He stares at the hunched figure in front of him. "You should rest master. Humans need sleep. You are a human," he connects the obvious dots as though she is blissfully ignorant of the condition.

She shakes her head. "Despite waning vampiric activity, I managed to accumulate all this," she points a violent finger to mountains of paperwork, "while I was abroad." His eyes follow the line of her arm to the papery mass. He pauses, stretching the thin silence and slowly flexes his fingers. Urging them down, he pins the pile between them.

"Does the hunter seek prey to practice her craft?" He crumples sheets under his palm, leaning toward her rigid form. His tone blooms dark promises. "Perhaps you just need a little inspiration."

"I'll thank you from telling me how to do my job, servant! You overstep your bounds."

Alucard smiles. The anger cut through her malaise, razor sharp. A passing flash between dreams, it is a shadow of her normal showy spectacle. Her neck, face, and mouth are narrow lines. She reaches for her box of cigars. He catches her toying hand in his free fingers. His grip is cold, solid, and humming with power. She stares at his gloves, etched seals burned into his hands below, branding him as hers. Fingertips roam over her palm, caressing the length of her digits before capturing her hand. A trapped canary.

She regards him through steel-rimmed glasses. "What?" she murmurs.

"Your darkness is the candle Integra." He relinquishes her hand. He steps back from the desk, melting into shadows. She stares at the freed bird as it flutters down to earth.


	3. Chapter 3

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

Sleep comes to claim her. A city buried in ocean. Buildings, dirty, sharp, impossibly high jut out of black water. Sunlight touches blackened craters where people viewed the world from lofty heights. She is looking for something, frustrated with a memory that burns out like sun-touched fog. She sees nothing in this green and gray abyss. Filthy water laps the streets at her feet. Disgusted, she reaches to touch her hair pulling chunks from her head. She watches the straw fall from fingers, soaking into the oily water, greening. A high shrill whistle sounds, the all-too-familiar burning begins. Her throat and face quickly twist and mar, lumping into scar tissue. The pain would make her scream, but she is suffocated to silence as she turns, blinded by the sun's glare. It shadows the approaching men. Her back to the black abyss, she is paralyzed but to wait.

She is greeted by night's curtain.

Grasping for glasses on her nightstand, the clock reads 4:18 AM. Integra eases from the king-sized canopy. She shivers in fall air, cinching a blue dressing gown at her waist. Starlight silhouettes her figure to the stately bedroom. She lights a cigar, bites it between her lips, exhaling slowly. The stick's end burns an umber light, signaling her wake. Gazing into the garden below, a shadow trembles.

An apparition. Red. His strides toward the manor purposeful. He locks eyes with the silhouetted woman. He halts, gaze incinerating. For a moment neither moves. Tipping his hat, he offers a wicked grin. She frowns and turns her back to the window. The figure wavers, then vanishes, not a blade of grass distressed. Leaning against the cold glass, she inhales one delicious lingering drag and extinguishes the cigar.

Her day begins before sunrise. When the sun makes its lazy appearance, she has tackled a tome detailing redefined organizational boundaries. She signs her name for the 53rd time that day as the family's butler Walter carries away remnants of an English breakfast. "More tea Sir Integra?" he asks.

"Please." She doesn't glance from her work, purposeful pen strokes incapacitating the harmless sheets of paper. Not noticing Walter's graceful exit, she does notice when the ink of her pen suddenly spills, leaking onto the precious documents, spraying her suit jacket. "Shit," she mutters.

She removes the ruined coat, her momentum interrupted. She stands, moving to the portrait of her father over the hearth. Posture ramrod straight, she exhales loudly at the thought of Hellsing's empty horizon. She stares at her father's captive gaze, "The Hellsing Organization falling into its own footprints?"

A knock interrupts her assessment . "Pardon the interruption Sir Integra. It seems you have a caller." Walter eyeballs and removes her discarded jacket with the unmatched alacrity, grace, and precision only a master vampire-hunter-butler can.

"I have no appointments. Who is it?"

"No name I've heard of. " He produces a business card. "The gentleman identified himself as an acquaintance to you. Shall I send him away?"

Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing looks once more to her father. "No."

Her blue gaze snaps to the card as she grasps it in long fingered gloves. "Michard Schrute. No employer listed."

She grips the card's ivory lines. "Hmm... Show him to the library Walter."

He bows. "As you wish."


	4. Chapter 4

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

Michard Schrute's features melt into his belly. His beard is thick and neatly kept; and he walks with a cane, but almost too impatiently. As though his limp would propel him airborne.

Integra regrets the decision to shake his hand every painful millimeter her body moves in proximity towards his sweaty waiting palm. Michard's hand coats hers in beefy-slickness, and what little hair she has on her arms stands on end. The exchange lasts mere seconds, to Integra, they seem a crystallized eternity, not unlike the passage of her nightmares. Michard's thick lips curl unpleasantly up at the ends, two fat sausages ready to split casings. Integra yanks her hand away, feeling as though she needs a metal scrub-brush and some lye.

She chokes out her words.

"Mr. Schrute, I presume? What business have you with our organization?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms. Hellsing. My name is Michard Schrute." He bows with trouble from hidden abdominals. His words spill out of his mouth like an overfilled sink.

She doesn't motion for him to sit.

He stares at her for uncomfortable seconds with what appears to be appraisal.

_Filth_. She straightens from a shudder. Integra Hellsing guts ghouls on a regular basis. She watches the dead reanimate. This ordinary plump man has no business affecting her so, but some base vibration emanating from Michard strikes a sick chord with her.

Sickeningly, he smiles, as though he is a friend to her thoughts. What spews forth from his mouth surprises her. "I'm a retainer for a private employer. We are interested in acquisitioning your organization's considerable talents for a few months."

In her mind he gushes, fawning _It's good to see you again, Miss Hellsing_. His squat tongue envelopes the back of her hand.

She sneers, dizzied by the vision. Squinting to bring his round face into focus, it floats, framed by the dark-shelved walls.

"We recognize that you are an incredibly busy person, and your duties extend far beyond the private sector. Given the current field situation we thought we could persuade you to consider. My employer, naturally, will compensate you handsomely," he gushes_._

Integra raises one eyebrow. Arms crossed in front of her, she faces him square. "What is the nature of the situation? And why did you not take this up through the proper channels?"

"The circumstances while dire, are rather delicate, and I cannot breech the confidence of my employer until proper documentation is drafted. Please consider the offer." He points to the business card in her hand, "call that number, ask for Michard. If we do not hear from you within the next 48 hours, we will be forced to relinquish the offer and seek assistance elsewhere, although we would prefer not to involve Enrico Maxwell."

Her vision narrows. She grasps the card at the sound of her rival's name, disillusionment abandoned. It is a perfect portrait; sunlight blazing through the Quatrefoil windows over her shoulder, kissing her icy locks. Her eyes bore holes into the card, fireplace blazing behind her. Hellsing's mercenary troops, the Wild Geese executing precise drills at her command on the lawn below.

Michard bows awkwardly at the avenging angel in front of him, and sputters out the door.

"Ahem, Sir Integra."

At the sound of Walter's polite cough, the knight's commanding alto says, "Walter, please look into the name Michard Schrute, report everything you find."

"Right away my lady."


	5. Chapter 5

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

Walter's report in hand, she waits. Like clockwork her world becomes red.

"Good evening Miss Hellsing," from a velvet throat.

"Alucard," she nods toward the tall vampire as he predictably phases in through the wall of the study. Clad in his crimson Victorian duster and matching ascot; his signature hat and red glasses missing. He glides away from the wall toward her large desk.

"Your jacket."

She did not bother to replace the ink-stained jacket. Dressed in an ivory-colored satin blouse, a silver cross pendant divides the two halves of her creamy body. She waves the comment away.

"We were approached today by a representative for a private household. Walter did the research, however we were only able to come up with this-" she holds the business card up to Alucard, waiting for her servant to dutifully remove it from her fingertips. Pausing mid-sentence, eyes glower from under light brows as Alucard remains rooted to the carpet.

"My lost blue."

He reaches to pluck the card from her waiting hand, circumventing her palm. He ensnares her wrist, squeezing it. His thumb slides between gloved hand and silk-clad arm; he languidly traces the veins' indigo path. He embraces her gloved hand, and tickles her palm with barest touch, pulling the card away.

Her gaze wavers for an instant. "Well?"

"Well what?"

She blinks, nostrils flared, jaw firm. His eyes dance gleefully in the dim light of her office.

"Are you acquainted with this person?"

"Michard Schrute," he caresses the card. "No. An unusual name. Shall I dispose of him for you?" He reels to face her. "Grind him to dust? Give me the order, master,"

"No. Hellsing hasn't had opportunity to prove ourselves in the last few weeks. I was beginning to think we'd done our job too well. While unusual, it may be to our advantage to see what the job entails."

He towers over her. "How does the hunter miss her prey." He closes the last foot between them.

She sets her body into a stern line.

"You are still tired my master. Your body complains. Why don't you sleep?"

She snorts. "Since when are you one to care about my well-being servant?"

"Hmm." He crouches next to her leather-backed chair, his face level with her own. A hand touches her silken shoulder, she reflexively cringes. Cheek to cheek, he glides his gloved hand down her throat, pointer finger tracing the line of her collarbone. Fire laces her veins. Tracing a path over silk to rest on the collared V of her neckline, his hand drops to touch the silver cross adorning her neck.

It sizzles. Her breath hitches. "Vampire," she stares at the bridge of his aristocratic nose, his marble-white eyelids, the permanently etched lines at the corners of his mouth. The web of fire pools in her belly, swathing lower. "Alucard!"

He opens his eyes quickly, wide, engulfing her. Pupils dilate, red irises burn, he drags one finger up the length of her collar to her long throat. She chokes down a sound, willing her eyes open, breath in check; her body yearning to bloom under his touch. His finger caresses her neck, tucking silvery hair behind one ear. "My Integra," he breathes metallically before pulling up to full height. She releases the breath she has been holding.

"Go then. Contact them... It pleases me to see you so in command," he laughs vanishing into shadows.

A crystal paperweight shatters against the tiles where he vanished.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion!"


	6. Chapter 6

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

London burns. Waves of ghouls spill forth, freed, overwhelming in numbers like floodwaters rising. She slices into a nearby ghoul with her saber, neck and chest are saturated as a stream of blood spurts from the wound. A second corpse she beheads, while arterial sprays of bullets beat out an arrhythmic ballad. She is pulled into a familiar current, bloodied, red and unbound as she.

He kneels.

"Rise."

Lips capture hers in bruising kiss. She is pressed between the wall and his body, back ground into the masonry. Razor teeth rest on her thin throat. She wraps her long legs around his torso, sword discarded, hands tearing into black locks. Her face is bliss.

She feels the smile, a flutter of a kiss on her throat. But the retreating gaze is none other than Michard Schrute. Shocked, she drops her legs to the ground and shoves at his shoulders. He is immobile, stone, and all too eager to see her.

"My Integra, you are simply enchanting like this," he gestures to her blood-soaked blouse, words spilling from his lips. He inhales her, kissing her neck with his thick and spittle-coated lips.

Her own body goes rigid as she feels his slimy mouth on bare skin. She is disgusted as her own nerves and flesh betray her, shivering in response his touch. His fat little fingers grasp at her bloody shirt, yanking the fabric, pulling it taught across her body until its buttons burst. She can only stare in horror as her arms are rendered inert, her body stone. He gleefully pinches her nipple through the fabric of her crimson-soaked cotton bra. As he rolls it between his fingers it hardens in response. "That's my girl," he sputters. Integra groans in disgust, willing her body to move, to fight back, but unable. She watches him pull the cotton down, exposing her small breast to the cold air. Integra shakes as he pulls the nipple into his wet mouth. He suckles her, nipping at the erect flesh with his nubby teeth. She bites back a different kind of moan.

Yanking the garment down, clawing at her ribs, he places another hand between her legs and rubs against the warm waiting flesh. He lowers his spit and blood covered tongue to suckle each breast, as a nursing piglet would, trailing his filth between them, pinning her against the wall with his girth. She cannot move. Her body is paralyzed but to respond in pleasure. She presses her pussy into his cupped palm, rubbing against his hand. Her honeyed voice cries out in disgust and pleasure as she rides his fingers.

She sneers, transfixed as he produces his short, fat pecker; stroking it just out of her reach. Kneeling in dirt and broken glass she pulls his plump waiting morsel into her mouth. She gags as a wave of pleasure courses through her body. Michard grabs her head and forces her into a rhythm matched by the sound of gunfire in the distance.

She inhales London burning astride Schrute's cock. She is disappointed in how it fails to fill her engorged flesh completely, and grinds herself into his corpulent body. As she rides him, screams of her fallen men fall on deaf ears. Up, down, in, and out, Integra fucks him until her world turns red.

"The legendary Integra Hellsing!" He gurgles a laugh as her throbbing cunt bursts forth in a painful flame.

She wakes to the sound of her own gasp, and the tang of her wet climax. The chambers loom before her, gray and foreign. She grabs at her glasses. They reveal a clear, dark room. She sighs, relieved. She knows all too well there are plenty of individuals, dead or otherwise, who would love to see the iron maiden reduced to such base conduct. She shudders, promising her musked flesh to remove all evidence. She heads for her bath.

"Then we're in agreement. " Walter pauses on the receiver, eyes lifted to Sir Integra's.

"Most assuredly," he grasps the telephone in gloved hands, drumming his free fingers on the marble-topped end table in front of him.

"Good day," Walter ends the call.

"Well?" Integra inquires, legs crossed in her leather-backed chair.

"They agreed to meeting tonight, 10 PM, at the Sofitel London. They'll be sending over all pertinent details this afternoon."

"Why the cover?" she exhales a plume of cigar smoke.

"One can assume that until we agree to terms of service, their base of operations will be protected in anonymity. Also, Mr. Schrute was very adamant about including Alucard and Miss Victoria."

Integra frowns.

"I'd prefer not to involve them at this point. We have perfectly acceptable soldiers of the Wild Geese."

"My understanding of the situation is that the vampires will be protecting something of special interest covertly, the Wild Geese's sheer numbers may not be the best option. Furthermore, one or two Geese are no match for Alucard or Seras, even if she hasn't drunk human blood."

Integra considers his point. "I see. I don't particularly enjoy revealing all of Hellsing's cards at such an early stage in the game," she effectively snubs her cigar out in her father's crystal ashtray and quickly stands on her feet.

"Let's prepare then."


	7. Chapter 7

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

A utilitarian woman sits at a glass table flanked by two companions. Tropical flowers explode from a crystal fishbowl, partially obscuring the table view. Electric yellow curtains match the patterned comforter in the adjacent bedroom, and the pillows, and Seras' puffy hair. A waist-high urn sits behind Integra. She mutters to her other nearly invisible companion, his coat bleeding into the red walls of _The Royale Suite_. Suppressing the acid churning in her stomach, a solitary cigar dangles from her lips, she inhales its small comfort.

Across is Michard, skirted by two of his own bodyguards. They are matched, like two generically modern bookends; compared to Integra's rather eclectic and primeval relics. Michard is unchanged, foaming at the mouth. He seems a garden statue; streams of drivel pouring from his mouth to collect in mossy little dank pools. Integra suppresses a chuckle.

_If we tore out his throat, it would be a blood bath._ Alucard's voice intrudes on her thoughts. The scene in Integra's mind changes to reveal a bloodied Michard, walleyed and gasping for oxygen with blood streaming from his pulpy neck, staining the koi pond below.

She shoots a glare at her bodyguard and then at the living statue across the table. "Mr. Schrute. It is an offense that your employer is not willing to meet us tonight. We risk our very existence venturing into public, I assume that your leader would commonly extend us the same courtesy."

Michard smiles. Little Seras shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Sir Hellsing, I assure you Mr. Dantes is arriving shortly. He travels some distances while working and we are accustomed to such. Please do not take offense, he does not mean it personally," Schrute makes a thin apologetic gesture.

"We wait no longer than quarter past. I don't care who you are, regardless of the little field work currently available."

Michard's eyes glint like deep cold stones. His smile flounders into a grimace. Alucard sneers in return, revealing rows of precious pearly teeth.

The phone rings.

"He's on his way up right now," Michard says cheerfully, despite the portrait of ferocity opposite. He jumps from the table, limping to escort his employer into the suite. He takes a bodyguard.

Integra drums her fingers on the tabletop. _This had better be worth it_, she sends to Alucard.

_Why Integra, have you changed your mind? Please allow me to humor you._ He leers down at her.

_I've had quite enough of your mental im-_

"Greetings Sir Hellsing," booms an open baritone.

Integra doesn't finish her thought.

He glides across the room unhurried. He discards a top hat, opera cape, and a walking stick. He wears a pair of white gloves. Shaking droplets of rain from his long dark hair, he looks each member of the Hellsing party in the eye, smiling, and peels off his wet outer garments, placing them in the outstretched hands of one of Schrute's bookends.

In the frame before her, Eric Dantes and Michard Schrute are opposite poles. Eric's face is unguarded, skin as brown as Integra's own, frank blue eyes, disarming smile. His goatee is neatly trimmed, his hair long, wavy, and dark. He is tall and muscular. Seras stares. Integra's lip twitches. She feels a tug at the corner of her mind. She mentally waves it away.

He approaches the knight, bows his head taking one gloved hand into his, and brings it to his lips in a chaste kiss. "Enchanted Sir Hellsing. My name is Eric Dantes. I've been looking forward to meeting you. You are a picture of loveliness." He gently releases Integra's hand.

Charms are wasted on the lady knight.

"You're late Mr. Dantes. My organization is too valuable to be treated as such. My employees-" she gestures to her right and left, "are not to be taken so lightly."

His open laugh breaks open the room's silence. "No, of course not Sir Hellsing. I apologize if I have offended you. That was not my intention. I simply have much to do, and would very much like for your organization to be a part of it, if you'll permit me the time."

Integra considers his words for a beat then nods briskly. She gestures to the petite package on her left. "This is Seras Victoria, a recent addition to our staff."

Seras steps forward, face pink. She stammers, "Hello sir."

Eric smiles widely, enveloping her hand in his, to lay a kiss upon it. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Victoria." She glances down at the floor, hiding her eyes from his in stray fringe upon her round forehead.

"This is Alucard."

"Alucard. I've heard much about you."

Integra's servant mimics his master with a curt nod.

Eric smiles, attention focused back on Integra. "Shall we then?"

She agrees.

He sits next to her at the table, the glass reflecting their faces in a momentary snapshot.


	8. Chapter 8

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

"Yes!" Integra loosens her ascot, and unbuttons her blouse. A smile plays on her lips as she steps barefoot across the hardwood floor toward her waiting bed. The evening's cocktail of events a cure-all for her malaise.

The day after tomorrow, she will accompany her vampires, with a small squad of Wild Geese to Dantes' residence. Dantes remained stubbornly tight-lipped about what it was the group would be protecting, insisting on absolute security until the negotiations were finalized. Despite Integra's initial reservations, she is secretly pleased at the man's discretion, and his insistence on using Hellsing; its excellence emblazoned in reputation. Sliding into a silky nightgown, Integra exhales through a smile at the thought of her saber felling undead Freaks as lustfully as her pen had lately incapacitated paperwork.

She recalls the first ghoul killed on her sword, at the tender age of 15. Its slick rot-filled organs popped as she sliced through the abdominal cavity. She remembers the resounding _thunck_-the melon squash of its head upon the hilt of her saber. Her smile becomes a grin. In her world, there is nothing as exhilarating as squashing a platoon of ghouls.

_What about in my world?_ Her servant's voice seeps into her reverie.

She sighs, running a brush through her platinum hair. _Be it your kill or mine, it serves the reputation established by my house. Don't think I'm not pleased for your work, servant._

"Master."

Light brows knit themselves together in a v. She closes her eyes. "What is so important that you seek me in my personal chamber?"

His chuckle is sinister. She opens her eyes and in her looking glass meets those of her servant standing behind. The brush continues swift movements. She sits up, shocked, when a cold hand grasps her right thigh. "Unhand me this instant," she hisses, whirling around on her stool to face him.

He leans into her face, dead lips curving into a smirk. "Oh, I know you are pleased by my work." A white beam of moonlight bares a halo of silver on her crown, its shaft dipping down to play on the angular planes of her cheeks, the tip of her nose. She is a white fury, blood surging under her thin skin, a river of dazzling sustenance, exquisite taste.

"Damnit Alucard!" she grabs his arm in an attempt to shove the dead weight off.

"Master," he gives her thigh one lingering squeeze before kneeling in front of her. " That man admires you. Can you be certain of his intent for our happy little family?" He cups Integra's jaw using the voice reserved for when she was a child, tracing his thumb across her cheek. "You humans, always misunderstand what lies right before you, what stares you in the face."

She tries to focus on the meaning of his words. She's lost control of the woman she stifles behind polished suits, behind her knighthood, her proud Hellsing heritage; its thin red line ensnaring her, blood and duty-bound. She rips his hand away, flinging her brush on the vanity and stands, her thin layer of white satin pressed firmly against his body. "You fail to recognize your master Alucard! How dare you question my authority? I am tired of these ridiculous games. You are exhausting, meddlesome, and amazingly immature for your lengthy existence on this planet. Sending you to away to work with Mr. Dantes will be a relief from your crushing presence!"

He withdraws his body.

She sighs. "I'm sorry Alucard. That was uncalled for. You are indispensible, without you Hellsing's legacy would be lost in ages past." She reaches out her slim fingered hand to lay it on one of his own.

He looks down at her soft palm resting on his hand. He pulls his hand from hers, gesturing, as if waving away a thought, irritation stamped on his features. Integra's eyes are drawn to the insignia stamped on his glove. He inclines his head toward her, mouth a narrow line.

"Did you ever consider how strong these bonds really are?" He holds the gloves up to her face for inspection. He laughs as she meets his eyes with curiosity. "I could break these ridiculous seals anytime I desire. It's cheap." He gestures widely to the room around him. "This is, a choice, Miss Hellsing." He spits out her name, and is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

Blood soaks her white blouse. The familiar vista sends shivers through her body; the masonry wall, the heat and stench of nearby flame, the delicious way he runs his tongue up her neck. She moans at the sight of his bare hands, deftly shredding the thin fabric plastered to her chest. His long tongue lavishes her torso, rolling around her nipple, dutifully removing all traces of blood, leaving only wet heat. She groans at such perfect attention.

The city's buildings crumble, burn in the blackness. Ghouls tear through flesh, hungry addicts. This is the backdrop of their affair, his violence a tribute. She hears none of it, only her pants and moans, the sound of his long tongue. Her hands fumble to remove her trousers, he rips the offending fabric off her body. She stares at his glorious nakedness, reflective in the light of burning fires. She grasps his erection, he growls, yanking Integra's long hair, he pulls her head back, exposing the curve of her throat to his waiting mouth.

As if she were a feather, he plucks her up. She wraps her legs around his waist, pressing her dripping flesh against his cold taut stomach. He grunts at the heat, grabbing her waist and buttocks, forcing her lower, angling her body to meet his stiffness.

"Integra..." He pushes the head of his cock into her inch by inch.

Shudders dance through her body eliciting a low moan as he slides into her more completely. Her passage stretches to accommodate him as he begins a slow thrusting, using his shadows to pluck at her flesh. This is a point of no return. No army of ghouls or city burning could separate the lovers. She rolls her eyes into her head when lips and teeth touch her neck.

She grinds herself into him urgently, chasing a building pressure. He pulls her onto him completely and holds her there impaled, twisting. He gazes into her icy eyes, his red liquid sparkling, and he growls.

"Wake up Integra. Is this what you want?"

A scream pierces the reverie.

He slips her up the length of his long shaft, forcing her immobile, her warm passage enclosing the head of his cock. Empty, she whimpers, the cold air fingering the dark blonde hair on her labia.

"Or is this what you want?".

A scream sounds again, from a block away. Integra startled, looks for its owner.

His shadows pluck at her brown nipples, teasing them to taut brown pebbles. Her slippery descent is agonizingly slow, he savors her frustration. She moans his name as he buries his face into her neck. "Wake up Integra," he licks the side of her neck, running his long tongue over every inch of her willowy column until her hair stands on end.

He bites down, growling into her body with such a force, the rumbling makes her start more than pain. The pain melts, a warm white sun, as he pounds into her. Her throat releases streams of rich Hellsing blood down his gullet. She rides the waves, and as her climax builds, doesn't care that he is taking her blood, doesn't think of the close screams, and the waves of ghouls flooding around the corner. All she feels is him, filling her up. Her frighteningly simple surrender.

He withdraws, and seals up her wound with a lick of his tongue.

He pins her there against the wall for a moment, she panics, thoughts chasing her retreating orgasm, he keeps his face lowered to hers, a small smile plastered there.

"Or, is this what you want, my darling Integra?"

His eyes hood, becoming predatory, and Integra notices the hordes of uniformed ghouls standing behind him, body parts dripping rotten to the earth.

"Unhand me servant!" she regains her dignity.

He drops her unceremoniously, her head smacks against the wall. She lies in the dirt, rubbing her head, she pulls her hand away to see a small amount of blood. She yelps, eyes focusing as a pair of rotted hands grab her ankles and roughly drag her nude form across the littered ground.

"Alucard?"

"Oh don't worry master, they're not hungry for flesh."

She blindly searches for his figure amongst the straining corpses, she can only make out putrid flesh, missing jaws, liquid eyes melting down gray skin. Several of the corpses are wearing what appear to be military-style uniforms. Integra gasps as she spies the Hellsing coat of arms on the shoulder of one zombie.

"These are my men!"

He laughs.

"Yesss. They're hungry for something only you can offer...Miss Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing," he draws out each syllable of her name, making it sound like a slap in the face.

The corpse that moves in front of her is naked, his testicles swollen into rotten liquid-filled sacks. They hang down brushing against the backs of her spread thighs, bouncing against her buttocks as he grasps her bent knees. She looks at his leaking gray erection, covered in open sores and she realizes what he means to do.

"Alucard!" she doesn't bother to hide her fright.

Alucard laughs deeply, "but isn't this what you want Integra? A man's touch? To lie with a man? To become a corpse like these humans?"

An oozing hand grasps her breast; a stinking mouth attached to a ghoul with no eyes, runs his displaced lower jaw on her soft flesh, drooling and sliming her chest. A third ghoul appears, rubbing his putrid brown cock over her cheeks and lips, pressing it to her hard mouth. She stifles a scream in her throat, bucking her body like a trapped prey animal as a wound on the penis gushes unidentifiable fluids across her lips.

"Always a fighter aren't you my Integra? This is only a dream, you can give in to your desires, nothing can hurt you. I won't allow it. You want to be a human, so be a human. This is the destiny you choose. I thought you'd enjoy knowing some of your human men better," she makes out dim shadows growing behind the ghoul at her knees.

"You need to figure out what you want, little girl."

He exhales bloody breath over the ghoul's shoulder, all she can see is his eyes and grinning teeth, an evil incarnation of Carroll's Cheshire Cat. The pressure on her body builds as the ghouls push their ready appendages into her mouth and as she feels her pussy start to open with the push of rotten lubrication, Integra screams and wrenches up vomit as her world fades to black.

She awakes to the sound of her own scream, tears streaming down her cheeks.


	10. Chapter 10

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

The stately Integra Hellsing claps her hands to her cheeks and lets out a small wail. She is shrinks into the noise, microscopic and uncertain; a little girl lost in the dark dungeon, evil nipping at her heels. She touches her hair, her face, arms, legs, until she hunches in a ball; hands hug her body, eyes wide in shock. Trembling in the mess of her bed, she permits this lapse until she remembers who she is._ Fuck._ Eyes closed, inhaling deeply, she expands back into her body with the breath. She feels for a cigar on the nightstand.

Her own tremoring hands try to thwart lighting the expensive cigar. The lighter's flame wavers in the air, homeless. On contact she gulps deeply. She remains hunched over the edge of her bed, one hand supporting her body through her forehead, the other flying to her lips, housing her security. The cigars smell like her father.

It's been years since his death. Their last conversation took place when he was dying. She moves from her bunk. Shuffling to the French doors, to the balcony, she faces the starlit sky, a serene blanket over her estate. What would he say about tonight? Would he tell her to face the monsters in the dark? The monster in her dark? She wants to ask, why_ him_? Was he really a gift, a dying father's last sentiment, reaching from beyond the grave to help his only child?

No. She exhales, a tear streams down her face. What to call it? Frightened, alone, a murderous uncle bent on killing a child. Did Arthur Hellsing plan for it? Was it merely luck she found_ him_? He who would serve her faithfully, maddeningly.

A star bursts across the sky in a blindingly white flash, burning out as quickly as it came.

"A curse..." the words trail off her lips. The spirit of her cigar extinguished.


	11. Chapter 11

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

"I hope the sole is to your liking." A surprise luncheon invitation finds Integra sitting at the large round table of a Surrey mansion. Eric Dantes' baritone swells to the high-ceilings and patterned walls.

"It's delicious."

Eric smiles and leans toward his guest. "Excellent, Sir Hellsing, I propose we toast to new acquaintances."

She nods, wondering when she became so agreeable. "Aye, to acquaintances." _Why did I agree to this?_ She quirks an eyebrow at the man before her and raises her glass.

"I am fortunate indeed to have such a beautiful and intelligent woman as my partner."

Integra blanches and gulps a mouthful of the white burgundy. She puts her glass down squarely. "Mr. Dantes, I'd like to discuss some terms of this mission." Her voice rings out, the only sound in the room, aside from the crackling fire.

One corner of Dantes' lips curl up, and he motions her to begin.

She continues, "for instance, I am not greatly inclined to include specific members of my organization on this job, when I see little evidence they are needed."

Dantes nods, considering her statement. "Sir Hellsing, I understand your reservations. Please know, I will make my intent clear as to why I requested your organization's services, I'm sure you understand it's only a matter of time before my home appears a less tranquil picture."

"Naturally."

"Additionally, I will provide ample funding to receive the full protection of your services, all up front if necessary. Money is no object to me. "

She is unmoved.

"I understand you wish to keep your top agents close at hand, especially when holding a position such as yours. However, given the current peace surrounding your home and most of the countryside, there is no doubt that Alucard's constant proximity to you at this point is excessive. I do have need of him here. However if you cannot be without his protection, it is my wish you would stay here as long as you'd like," his smile is pearly in the dappled sunlight.

She hisses a sharp intake of breath. "Thank you Mr. Dantes, but I will be the judge of my own person."

Dantes shoulders rise with his chuckle.

"By no means did I imply that you are unable to take care of yourself. You are a most capable and exquisite woman."

One hand on the table, she feels for her cross pendant. "Does your tongue seek a customer, Mr. Dantes?" A faint blush creeps into her cheeks when she feels his palm over her hand.

"I am nothing if not honest Miss Hellsing," he smiles.

Integra removes her hand and folds her long-stemmed fingers under her chin. "Michard mentioned using agents of the Vatican if we refused your offer. What is your connection to Enrico Maxwell, Mr. Dantes?"

Distaste flashes over his features, and Eric offers open palms in supplication. "Please, call me Eric, and happily none. As your organization is the best at what you do, I also have access to some of the finest services money can offer." He looks down, " please forgive me if it offends your sensibilities."

"No," she shakes her head. "I am relieved you are at least thorough."

"Sir Hellsing, it is no secret there is little love lost between you and Enrico Maxwell."

She chuckles meeting his smile with one of her own. "So you used my organization's obvious dissonance with that pig Maxwell to motivate us to your cause? Very underhanded of you Mr. Dantes."

His jaw hardens. "Only the finest."

She considers him a moment and fishes a cigar from her breast pocket.

"Allow me," he produces a gold lighter.

Integra inhales deeply and relaxes into the warmth of the cushioned chair, eyes taking in the colorful autumn afternoon. They sit in companionable silence.

"This day reminds me of one long ago." Dantes gazes across the acres of grass. "The day I came into possession of what needs such attention. Life for me before that day was much simpler."

She exhales, recalling her own life-changing day years past, not in the autumn's dappled sunshine, but in the dank and musty basement of her family's manor.

His voice slides into her thoughts, "Perhaps we have more in common than I thought, Ms. Hellsing."

_I doubt it. But. I am here..._

They lock eyes. She corrects him. "You may call me Integra."

His smile is small, but it touches his eyes, "...Integra." Reaching toward his guest, Dantes grasps a single grape from the bunch housed between them. He squeezes it between gloved fingers. It trembles in its thin skin.

"Integra, allow me to acquaint you with what is so valuable that only your organization's protective resources will suffice. I must insist on your absolute secrecy in what I am about to show you. I trust your reputation and _you_ as my partner. There is no other." His fingers continue squeeze down on the gelatinous orb, until the grape bursts forth from its skin.

"Show me."


	12. Chapter 12

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

This is how Integra meets her assassin.

The luncheon's quiet drops behind them, lost in passages of Gothic-Tudor splendor. They flash through rectangular rooms in a string of open doors, navigating the mansion's tangled labyrinth. Amidst the flurry of footsteps, they gain a few of Dantes' bookend bodyguards.

They stop before a doubly planked arched door, a staircase behind them sunk into the ground appears to be an addition. Eric deftly enters a code in a locked security pad, his fingers flying across the screen. He presses his thumb into a scanner, and the arched door clunks as he heaves it open. He smiles over his shoulder to Integra and motions for her to enter as the bookends fall into place at her sides.

They enter a second chamber with a floor-to-ceiling steel-reinforced concrete door. Video cameras monitor from all corners of the ceiling. A spiky-brown-haired man greets Dantes from his post. He steps to one side of the door with a turnkey in hand, he hands another to Dantes.

"William."

William-the-security-guard nods to Dantes as Eric takes his place at the opposite end of the door. Both men insert their keys into small, round recesses, and William counts down from three. On one, both turn their keys toward the doorway, and it clicks.

Dantes turns a massive wheel in the center of the access and opens it to reveal a strongroom.

Integra nods to William's impassive face as she steps through the foyer into what appears to be a gallery. The bookends push the vault door closed behind them. They position themselves on either end of the door as Integra joins Dante's side.

He smiles down at the tall woman. "Shall we?"

Polished wooden floors stretch the length of the long room and into adjacent chambers. Recessed lighting halos each picture, sculpture, portrait in the long gallery. They walk a measured pace, allowing her time to inspect the massive collection of artwork entombed in the heart of the mansion. She inspects a Rembrandt.

"The Storm on the Sea of Galilee," she reads aloud. "A depiction of Christ in the storm," she murmurs adjusting her steel-rimmed glasses. The light in the flashing night sky is liquid and poured over the heads of the pilgrims, their ship thrashed between cavernous waves, men on board sheltering Christ at all cost, even unto ruin.

Integra turns to face Dantes. "As I recall, wasn't this painting stolen?"

"It's part of my personal collection," he answers, smiling ever so slightly while gesturing the length of the room.

They walk the length of the gallery passing works by masters such as Picasso, Van Gough, and countless others Integra cannot name each arranged and displayed impeccably.

She stops before another seascape, lured by a pair of soulless red eyes staring out from the sea. "What is the story behind this?" she inquires of the gruesome scene.

"That is Watson, and the Shark." Dantes points to each as though introducing friends. He smiles.

The water in the picture is oily green, sky clouded, tall ships in a harbor. A group of men in a small wooden boat are frozen in the action of rescuing a youth from the sea. He is floating, his long white-blonde hair appearing almost green in the water, a look of shock and horror on his nearly feminine features as he floats upside-down, staring into the gaping maw of a thick-lipped slick gray shark. His hand appears mere inches from the shark's nose as it swims in for a repeat encounter. The boy's right leg appears to have been stripped off, ribbons of blood flow from the wound into the water. The men in the small craft wear visages of pain, horror, shock, and helplessness, two bravely reaching into the water to grab the doomed lad. A rope dangles from a man's hands, just out of the swimmer's reach. Another soul, appears with a boat hook at the prow, long, wavy brunette hair blown back in the Caribbean breeze as he moves to impale the red-eyed monster, sending it to its demise. Despite the heroic efforts, escape seems impossible for the blonde human.

"Is this fiction?" Integra asks, as transfixed by the painting as the swimmer Watson by his shark.

"No. This painting was a true story. Perhaps you recognize the name Brook Watson."

"...Of course, once Lord Mayor of London. His leg was amputated below the knee," she replies. She pauses a moment then smiles. "One opponent famously thought a wooden head would have served him best."

"Yes, he survived and commissioned this painting to recall his triumph over such adversity. A testimony to the strength of the human spirit."

Dantes turns, leaving Integra to digest the scene in front of her. "A happy ending?" she questions aloud.

"Indeed. Fortune doesn't smile on most, and certainly never twice."

She lingers for a moment longer, transfixed by the eyes of a shark.


	13. Chapter 13

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

A cloud of unease fills Integra as she trails Eric Dantes through the doorway to an elevator. He enters a numeric code in a small key pad left of the elevator. The pad slides up to reveal a miniature keyhole. Producing a key from his coat, Eric turns it twice counterclockwise, and the doors open. As they descend, Eric smiles down at Integra.

"I'd like your opinion on what I am about to show you."

Stepping through the opposite doors, they enter a small, cold, white space. In the center of the room objects are displayed under thick security glass, infrared cameras focused on mushrooming pedestals. Only two display cases contain objects.

Eric's voice fills the small area, "I had this room installed for this single purpose; to guard these objects. However, it may no longer offer enough protection."

He gestures to one of two items under glass. It is a wrinkled parchment, faded, edges worn off decades ago. The large scroll appears to be blank aside from a few hand-inked markings at the top.

Integra reads:_ iI( iII I(IIIIII(III_

She raises her eyebrows and turns to her host, mouth screwed into a thin line. "Wh-"

Eric cuts her off with one graceful hand in the air and motions to the second case. It houses a round, flat, circle of thick colored glass. Hues of yellow, blue, and red mix, forming a kaleidoscope. The center of the disc is open. Forged in ropey metal, there is a hole where a nail, screw, or some kind of fixture would hold the gleaming disc in place from the center.

Both objects appear ancient. Both appear fragile. Integra can attest that they both appear to be part of something bigger.

"Eric," she tries his name aloud, "I'm not an expert in archaeology, I'm an expert in vampires."

His face hardens in the cold overhead spotlight.

"Does the name Nevio Bugiardini mean anything to you?"

Integra shakes her head.

"Nevio Bugiardini lived in the early part of the 16th century, chasing the heels of one famous contemporary, Leonardo da Vinci. He constructed fantastic machines, drew sketches and blueprints of technologies not even dreamt of at the time. He was a hermit, an outcast, considered even a lunatic by some in his lifetime. He was shunned by many of his kinsmen, but over the centuries his works grew in popularity as many of his prophecies came to fruition. Inevitably, numerous individuals, private collectors, and organizations strive to obtain as many of his works as possible, regardless of the outcome."

"These are relics from Bugiardini."

"Indeed. They are believed to be part of a puzzle that spells out one of Bugiardini's final prophecies."

"And you are one of the Bugiardini aficionados."

"Oh no, I'm just a lowly collector. However, it is a matter of upmost importance that these relics remain in my possession." His pupils dilate enormously, eyes appearing almost black. He finishes wetly, thoughts bleeding out his mouth, sweetening his quick tongue."To witness Bugiardini's final revelation would be a miracle in this dark world...I cannot have this falling into the wrong hands. We are so very close to gathering the final piece of this puzzle."

Integra crosses her arms. "Why Hellsing? If this simply involves devious wealthy globetrotters, I can't see what interest lies here for us."

Eric smiles and clenches his fist in the air, as if capturing an insect in flight. "These _are_ truly devious and wealthy individuals. One group in particular has been after these relics since I obtained them, in fact, they were the catalyst of my odyssey."

His face sobers for a minute, eyes lost.

He continues, "They call themselves 'The Red,' and they have recently turned to necromancy or forms of vampirism to obtain these objects. Unfortunately, my human soldiers were untrained in the dark arts, and were no match for their undead army. My entire staff was burned out from our African estate, many running into the arms of a waiting vampire."

Startled, Integra looks up from her inspection of the objects. She slips into a stifling dream of tall grasses, and long-fingered red rivulets worming around ruddy blades. She scents the air, dripping with the perfume of charred flesh. It clings to her body like a sun-kissed cotton dress, she rolls in the delicious smell, wrapping herself in it like a lover's embrace, a lion rolling in its kill.

Slowly the blackness dissipates, the underground vault comes into focus. Dantes' features appear chalky and harsh under the overhead spotlights. She struggles for words, her brain addled as though waking from dreams. "...This was a recent development."

He nods.

"How long have you been running?"

"Years." Eric stares at the parchment. "I've established safe houses in all the continents of the globe, I'm an expert in dealing with different countries, their politics and governments. I am very well aware of the sprinkling of organizations, such as your own, who make a living destroying the undead. Alas, I am unable to provide the very basic service of effectively protecting my own men, as they so willingly protect this secret."

Integra opens her mouth to ask something and closes it.

Eric meets her gaze solemnly.

"This attack in Africa was the first vampiric, it was over a month ago. However, to involve vampires, their plans must date back further. There were over 100 ghouls in the grasslands and at least three vampires. We were vastly unprepared. I completely underestimated their stake in this game. Thus, we have established a household in England, hoping to receive your assistance. "

"Considering the current state Hellsing finds itself in, I am almost inclined to accept." She pauses a moment, the hard light flaring off her glasses.

"Integra, you are the defenders of crown and country. Your efforts will always go unnoticed by the public who so owes you its life. Your family name will have little chance to stand in the pages of history," she opens her mouth, and he raises a hand to stop her. "...except in fictionalized references of the past."

She frowns.

" I was well-connected enough, fortunate enough, to arrange our meeting. This opportunity will not present itself again, and who is to say that the current state of Hellsing will rise to the busy schedule to which you are normally accustomed? Perhaps you have eliminated the immediate threats to your jurisdiction. I will not, no, I _cannot_ accept help from lesser organizations. I refuse to gamble with more innocent human lives."

He grasps her hands in his. "If these artifacts fall under control of The Red, it would cause a catastrophe of world proportions. Integra, will you help keep this secret safe? Only with your leadership could we stand a chance to gain the rest of the puzzle, while crushing their ranks into annihilation."

She scrutinizes his features.

"High praise Eric Dantes."

He implores her with his eyes.

She muses a beat.

" All right, Hellsing accepts your assignment. We'll have Walter meet with Michard to draw up the contract tomorrow."

Eric's lips curve into a smile, his eyes glitter darkly. "Excellent Integra. I am blessed with your generosity."

They shake on the promise, she smiles as he captures her unease into his warm hand.


	14. Chapter 14

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

That evening, back at the Hellsing manor, Integra notices a beautifully wrapped package that has materialized on her desk blotter. She explores it with her gloved fingertips, inserting one finger into the layers, she unfolds the silver wrap, sliding a heavy black velvet box from its crinkled cocoon. Discarding the paper, she opens the box and withdraws a card with her name inked upon it in neat cursive. The note reads:

_Integra, _

_Please accept this small token of my gratitude. I cannot find the words to express my most sincere thanks for what you have agreed to do for my cause. I look forward to working closely with you, and getting to know the woman of such legendary heritage. _

_Sincerely, _

_Eric _

"Hummph," Integra eyeballs the card.

She places the card on the desk next to the discarded wrap. Inside the box is a crisply cut crystal paperweight. She plucks the object from its box to inspect the delicately inlaid analog clock ticking away time's minutes. A small smile plucks at the corners of her mouth as the crystal catches and collects the evening's sun, dripping red from the horizon.

She places the paperweight at the empty corner of her desk, a replacement for her crushed original. For one moment, she stands from her leather-backed chair and admires the clock.

* * *

She takes her dinner in the formal dining room. A long mahogany table flanked by stately matching chairs serves as the centerpiece of the space. A blazing fire has been set in the massive stone fireplace across from the windowed wall overlooking the gardens.

Unlike traditional women of her age and breeding, Integra dines alone, a veritable feast set before her; it's as though her servant Walter (and sometimes father) hopes this would be the one evening she'd dine accompanied.

"Walter, send for Alucard and Seras Victoria please."

"Yes mum." Walter bows politely, exiting the hall.

As Integra finishes the last bites of her meal, she lingers over her Merlot. Alucard materializes through the wall, briefly bowing before standing in front of the fireplace, basking in its warmth and light. Seras trails in behind Walter moments later. Integra nods to Walter.

"Miss Victoria, if you'll follow me please," Walter inclines his head toward the dining table. He pulls out a seat near the table's head for Seras to sit.

"Thank you sir," Seras says quietly as Walter tucks her chair into the table.

Seras' eyes are wide as she takes in the table laden with food before her. Her place setting consists of a soup bowl setting, a spoon, and a napkin. She looks quickly from her empty china bowl to her master's mistress. Integra's jacket hangs over the back of her chair, her knee is resting up against the table's edge, and she swirls a garnet wine in her glass, smiling slightly at the young vampire, cheeks lightly flushed.

Seras' big eyes grow impossibly wider, taking in Sir Hellsing's casual state, and she whirls her head toward Master to seek his reassurance. Although lacking his hat, his eyes are veiled by glasses.

"Seras Victoria," Integra begins, voice honeyed by drink.

Seras casts her eyes down, forcing them to study the patterned china. "Yes Sir," her kittenish voice is lost in the room. She jumps momentarily as Integra's (bare!) hand reaches out to grasp her own. Integra's skin is so warm to the young vampire, so smooth.

"Seras," Integra leans in toward the girl, inclining her head until she successfully catches Seras' eyes, a smile on her lips. "Look at me please."

Seras reluctantly gazes up to Sir Hellsing through the blonde bangs on her forehead. Her round cheeks fill with color, noticing Integra's relaxed stance, white blonde hair cascading down her back, framing her handsome face; her unbuttoned neckline and tawny skin enveloping her long neck, strong pulse thrumming against thin skin.

Seras can feel the tips of her fangs emerging to poke at her lips. She sucks on her teeth, pursing her lips closed, unable to meet Sir Hellsing's Nordic gaze.

A growl from beside Integra breaks the silence. "Police girl, she gave you an order." Alucard appears across from Seras at Integra's elbow, his face contorted into a mask of annoyance.

Integra laughs huskily and raises her hand to wave Alucard's comment away. "Enough vampire." She grasps the stem of the glass and raises it to her lips, and tosses her head back swallowing some of the wine. A small purple stain blossoms on her lips. She rolls the Merlot over her tongue, the strong muscle caressing the inside of her mouth and jaw. She swallows the liquid, licking away the bloom.

"Now then, Police Girl, you're aware that you are beginning a new assignment tomorrow, yes?" Integra rests her hand under her chin, leaning in toward Seras as though they were best chums.

She smiles mimicking Seras' agreeing nod. "Good...Seras Victoria, this assignment is unlike anything you've encountered before. I wonder, will you be up to that challenge?"

Seras stammers "I think so, Sir." She appears dazzled by this train of thought, looking from one master to the other, dark to light, fire to ice.

"Don't lie to me Police Girl." Integra's voice is low and husky. A log pops from the fireplace, and Seras jumps.

"I'm not lying, Sir."

"When is the last time you drank human blood?" Integra quirks up an eyebrow and looks down her nose at the girl.

"Umm...well Sir, you see, I haven't." Seras looks down, ashamed.

"It's as I thought." Integra reels her head toward Seras' master. "Why hasn't this situation been remedied? I cannot have a vampire running around weaker than a kitten. This is absolutely unacceptable Alucard."

Seras wants to drop through the stone floor, vanish into the walls, become invisible-but she has not drunk blood, and cannot even try to disappear. Alucard stares over his glasses, his look boring holes in his servant. She shifts in her seat.

"Walter," Sir Hellsing gestures at Seras' bowl.

Walter produces an O negative blood pack, slightly warmed, and dispenses it into Seras' bowl. He paces a few steps and bows, retreating from the room.

"It's time Police Girl," Master glowers. "Drink your blood, that's an order." He spits his words like a snake spitting poison.

Candlelight flickers play upon the surface of the red stuff as she reaches for the soup spoon. _I can pretend it's tomato soup._ Both masters watch as Seras reluctantly dips her spoon into the warmed blood, her face equal parts hunger and revulsion. Her fangs press deeply into her bottom lip, almost enough pressure to draw her own dead blood. She raises the spoon to her trembling mouth, opens her lips and places the soup spoon between them. With eyes squeezed shut, knees locked together around her other fist, she sucks the savory broth into her mouth, and promptly spits it out across the table.

She gags, "I'm sorry..."

Alucard sneers in disgust, while Integra raises her eyebrows in slow surprise. "Why do you torture yourself like that?"

"Because she's an idiot," Alucard answers, his face framed in the fire's light. His words sting with a whip's quick violence.

She draws blood biting her bottom lip. _Master._ A small bloody tear threatens to spill down her cheek.

"We'll have none of that," Sir Hellsing chides softly. She gulps the last of her wine and reaches for a clean knife.

The scent bursts into Seras' brain. Integra has cut her finger on the edge of a knife, drawing blood. Seras' pupils dilate, zeroing in on the dripping wound. It takes every inch of restraint she can muster to meet Sir Integra's gently smiling eyes. "Now drink Seras. This is the genuine article, one hundred percent pure virgin blood," she chuckles as if sharing an inside joke with herself.

Alucard is standing rigidly, hands at his side, fingers twitching reflexively as his master sighs when Seras' tongue curls around Integra's finger. She presses her other hand to the table for support as she inserts her finger into Seras' mouth. "Good," she murmurs. She sucks in an unsteady breath as Seras closes her lips around the suspended digit, suckling like a baby. "Don't waste a drop, I do not often share."

Seras is in rapture, she has never tasted anything as delicious, as sweet as Sir Hellsing's blood. Not in her undead existence, her human life, could she imagine such a tang, and her body simply sings in relief. She feels each nerve ending lit up, a fire rising to such an alarm that she'd allow the burn over cool safety of the shade. She is hovering on the brink of something big, just on the precipice She clings to this blonde goddess, her master's master.

In a flash, she is undone. She strains as Sir Hellsing pulls away, nipping with tiny fangs. She opens her eyes, a blush staining her cheeks as she sees the woman in front of her. Master stands in her shadow, momentarily forgotten. Seras wants more, more Sir Hellsing. She wants to lick her again, suck her supple and warm skin.

_Mmmm._ Seras feels a warm tightening below her waist as she pictures herself worshipping Integra with her tongue. Blood flowing over her skin, into her mouth. She casts her eyes down as Master makes his presence known in the corner of her mind-she was so wrapped up in the lady of the house, he completely dropped off her radar.

It doesn't matter though.

Sir Hellsing is smiling, her bloody finger still dripping slightly, starting to coagulate from Seras' ministrations.

"How do you feel, Police Girl?" Sir Hellsing commands in her darkly sweet voice.

"Much better Sir, thank you," she feels the heat rise to her cheeks again, locking eyes with the lady knight.

"Good... you will drink the blood in time Seras, but this little taste should tie you over, at least momentarily. You've long nights ahead of you, don't waste the gift I've given. Now go."

_YES!_ "Yes Sir!" Seras rises invigorated and refreshed. As she bounds out of the hall she hears her master's growl, punctuated by Sir Hellsing's husky laugh-but she is too relieved and wrapped in her own thoughts to eavesdrop.


	15. Chapter 15

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

In that precise moment of Integra's laugh, William is searching for Eric Dantes. As he walks the corridors, he can't help but notice the walls crawling with spidery shadows cast by the moon. He nears the library; the lone fire in the room responsible for lighting the corners of the vast space, stretches and flexes its heat, fighting for dominance, only to be beat back into submission by the dark.

William has never been comfortable in the dark. Too many childhood stories made true by his adult reality. He's learned this since joining Eric Dante's security detail: the dark is a place for the inhuman. The dead. After this final job, William plans on resigning and moving to some place warm and sunny.

The young man spots two figures in the library, one involved in a game of chess on a mechanized board. The other attends.

The player's face is stony, impassive as he calculates his move. His face so void of emotion, William almost passes the room, halting only at the sound of Dantes unmistakable voice.

"...only a matter of time," William stops his clipped walk, peering into the gloom.

Michard Schrute replies, "arrangements have been finalized. Is there anything else you want me to look into prior?"

The floorboard under William's foot squeaks.

Michard straightens up, clears his froggy throat, face thinly veiling contempt.

William's sense of self-preservation tells him to bolt, but he was told Dantes had a message for him. He figures Michard is creepy at best, but certainly no physical threat to a muscular young man like himself.

"Eric," William begins.

Dantes turns from his game and stares through William, coldly, pinning him to the wall.

One second passes. Two.

Dantes then smiles warmly, as though it took him all that time to recognize one of his head security staff. "Ahh, William...I've been expecting you. Please come in."

Relieved, he complies without hesitation.

"What did you think of our guest today?"

William's brow furrows. "The woman? She was very attractive."

Dantes pauses before answering, his gaze back on the board.

"Yes, that lovely creature is Sir Integra Hellsing."

"She's the head of the Hellsing family?" William sounds doubtful.

Dantes laughs. "Yes, she's young, beautiful, and intelligent to boot. You understand her organization is the key to securing this last artifact. You'll be seeing more of Integra Hellsing in the days to come. She is our biggest ally, make sure you treat her as such."

"Yes, my mistake," William replies.

Dantes watches his invisible adversary make its move.

"Tomorrow we'll be meeting more of her staff for the upcoming job. I want you to run the briefing. Will you accept?"

William's eyes widen. "Absolutely Eric. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Of course." Dantes smiles thinly. "Michard will provide you with more details on their staff. Your job is to familiarize them with what we mapped out at our last strategy session."

"If you'll come with me," Michard nods to William and turns to leave the room.

William exits behind Michard, back into the dark, as Dante's voice floats down the corridor.

"We're counting on you William, don't disappoint us."

William suppresses a shudder as Dantes claims the queen.


	16. Chapter 16

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

There are no dreams tonight. Tonight she is peaceful. Tonight she sleeps the sleep of the dead.

Sheets twine up bare thighs like sun seeking clematis. Her menswear pajama top barely covers the rise of flesh where thighs meet buttocks. Belly down, head askance, face slack, tranquil. She appears years younger. Her bible lies closed on her nightstand. Glasses flung haphazardly on its leather cover. She isn't aware of William's moon casting spidery shadows on her walls.

A visitor would notice.

He would notice her stemmy legs, eyes lingering over the fleshy peak of her ass. He would notice her wild hair stuck to her cheek.

Lovely lavender eyelids. Thin eyelids. Flushed by miniature capillaries. Capillaries worming toward ropey vessels, veins. A delicious artery in the groin.

_Just a sample. A taste_

Dead sleep.

Peaceful sleep.

There are no dreams tonight.


	17. Chapter 17

Thanks for the reviews along the way!

New content is slowly but surely working its way in. Real life tends to get in the way.

If you revisit the older chapters, you'll find most of them have been revised/updated. I'm hoping you find things a little neater and cleaner. There's an end in sight!

Hellsing is owned by others.

* * *

_Well shit._ He mops his wetly ridged brow with the back of his hand. Twenty pairs of expectant eyes peer unblinkingly from behind flat-screen monitors in the bunker's briefing room. It wasn't the blue or brown or green irises that bothered him. It was that one pair of red, and perhaps the fact that their owner had melted up from the floor into the middle of the heavy tables, walking through the wood casually and smiling; like he was taking a happy little stroll back from the shitter.

He'd been on a roll with the Wild Geese, introducing himself as their captain on this assignment while Pip Bernadotte was overseas. The mercenaries had laughed at his ghoul jokes, and that juicy little Seras had smiled and nodded through the whole thing. Things were flowing smoothly; he had just finished detailing the grounds and shift switches with the B squad, and then Big Red shows up and steals the show, right in front of Eric and ice-bitch Hellsing. The unblinking eyes move closer. William finds himself looking up. _How tall is this freak?_ He breaks the stare and surveys the room; many of Hellsing's troops are grinning widely now.

"Status report, Captain Davis," a black growl crawls up the vertebrae in William's spine. William blinks his eyes against Alucard's gaping maw. From the corner, a man guffaws. William almost doesn't hear it, the red mouth in front of him seems to dwarf the entire room. He stares into the sharp cavern as the seconds seem to slow and stop altogether. Against his better judgment he leans closer. _What would happen if I stuck my gun in there?_

"Alucard," a deep female voice blankets the room and it is magnetic. The men in the room sit up. Seras' head snaps toward the back. William slides his gaze to Integra Hellsing standing from her chair, the light from the monitors reflecting off her glasses, shielding her eyes. He feels a great pressure release as Alucard turns slowly and bows to Integra.

She glowers at him momentarily. "Come," she says and stalks from the room. Alucard lurches toward the door, but not before awarding his ever-present grin to his captive audience. With each step, William can breathe more freely, his body relaxes, he seeks Dantes' eyes for assent to resume debriefing.

He still feels like he's floating somewhere above the men in the room, his voice sounds disjointed and far away. In a flash Alucard's face is upon him, blocking his view, his voice mocking, breath like raw hamburger, "William Davis...are you a dog, or a man, Captain Davis?" The voice hisses and evaporates like steam from a warm kettle. The vision abruptly vanishes and William slides back into his body, greeted by expectant eyes and faces.

He looks at the clock. Squad C briefing begins in 10 minutes. He still has to cover cleanup. He mops his wetly ridged brow with the back of his hand. _Well, shit._


End file.
